


Tonight I’ll be your best disaster

by LiveOakWithMoss



Series: Straight down the rabbit hole [1]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alcohol, Also Fake Chess, Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, Governing Is Really A Footnote, Gratuitous Furs, Horrible Decision Making, M/M, Multi, Sibling Incest, Things People Do In Nargothrond: Drink Wine And Have Misguided Affairs, Uncle/Nephew Incest, poor coping mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-06-08 23:10:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6878578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiveOakWithMoss/pseuds/LiveOakWithMoss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the tension-steeped atmosphere of Nargothrond, Celebrimbor grows close to his uncle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the spirit of all Nargothrond fics everywhere, let us begin with some wine drinking and discontent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. Nothing explicit in this chapter, but bad choices are initiated and alcohol is consumed.

Celegorm knew as soon as he laid eyes on his nephew that Celebrimbor had been drinking. Not just because Celegorm’s sensitive nose could pick up the scent of one of Finrod’s best wines on Celebrimbor’s breath, or because Celebrimbor was holding himself more loosely than usual, but because everything about him said that he was about to reveal more than was advisable.

But then, Celebrimbor always revealed too much, with his large, expressive mouth, and his open, honest face – far too honest a face for their family, Celegorm sometimes thought; perhaps he got it from his mother. Tonight Celegorm, who had lived his whole life trying to read faces that hid far more, knew with one look all that Celebrimbor would conceal.

He stretched out in his chair, watching Celebrimbor draw close to the fire. “Ho, nephew.”

“Oh,” said Celebrimbor, turning on the hearthrug and nearly sloshing wine from the glass in his hand. “I didn’t know you were in here.”

“It is my room,” said Celegorm, propping his head on his hand as he rested one elbow on the chair’s arm. “What did you expect to find in here, Huan playing cards with a bunch of palace dogs?”

“You know,” said Celebrimbor, with a big, too loose smile. “I wouldn’t be surprised.” Then the smile flicked away as quickly as it had come. “I wanted to see if my father was here. He’s not.”

“He’s not,” agreed Celegorm.

“I knew he wasn’t,” said Celebrimbor, almost to himself. “I knew. But I still wanted to see, on the off chance…” He sighed heavily and wandered over to all but pour himself over the back over the chair, his wine glass still dangling loosely from one hand. “The king is in his quarters,” he said, apparently apropos of nothing, and Celegorm leaned away from his wine-heavy exhale. “The door is closed.”

“Aye.” Celegorm eyed the level in the wine glass, half empty. “Likes his privacy, does our cousin.”

“Orodreth,” said Celebrimbor, his head swaying a little, “Orodreth met me in the halls. Said some things…”

Celegorm winced and pulled himself up. “Did he now? What sort of things?” He began to calculate how much hell he should be giving the king’s brother come the morrow.

“Made some accusations,” said Celebrimbor softly, and then raised the glass to his lips again. “Some insinuations. About my father and – well.”

Celegorm let out a sigh and reached for Celebrimbor’s elbow. “Tyelpe – ”

“Mnh.”

“Orodreth is…”

“I know what you would say. He didn’t mean it, he was just upset, he was being petty, he is resentful, he was taking out – ”

“Orodreth is a fool. Don’t heed him.”

“But is he wrong?” Celebrimbor fixed a sharp look on Celegorm, suddenly very much the echo of his father’s, and Celegorm forbore to answer. “As I thought.” Celebrimbor drank again, and slid around the side of the chair, perching on the arm and slumping against Celegorm. He started to speak a couple times, but stopped halfway through each time, finally settling on leaning his cheek against the top of Celegorm’s head. “But you’re here, at least,” he said, burying his nose in Celegorm’s hair, his voice slightly muffled.

“Always,” said Celegorm sourly, as Celebrimbor disordered his braids. “Here to play eternal consolation prize. Happy to be your second best. Whose am I not?”

Celebrimbor made a distressed sound and turned his mouth against Celegorm’s temple. “No, Uncle, do not say that, I did not mean – You are always someone I want to see, you are always someone I am happy to see; you are not consolation but confirmation that there is someone still in this bleak world worth loving.”

“Ahh, best of beasts,” said Celegorm, unable to hold onto his ill humor at the raw sincerity in Celebrimbor’s voice. He reached up to cuff Celebrimbor and then caress him. “You flatter your old uncle too warmly.” He carefully took the glass of wine from Celebrimbor’s hand and placed it well out of the way on the floor. “It is you who reminds me that time spent in grimness and drear contemplation is time wasted, when there are good souls and warm company to spend it in instead.”

Celebrimbor smiled and slid over the arm of the chair to drop heavily into Celegorm’s lap. Celegorm grunted at his weight, but wrapped an agreeable arm around his waist. “You are heavier than when last you did this, small nephew. No longer can I dandle you easily on one knee.”

“No dandling,” said Celebrimbor, strong eyebrows knitting. “No knees. I am not a child.”

“Nay,” said Celegorm, looking up into his serious, familiar face. “You are not a child.”

Celebrimbor wriggled over so he and Celegorm were side by side, though his legs still draped over Celegorm’s lap. The chair was oversized, but not large enough to fit them both without considerable overlap. Celebrimbor looped an arm around Celegorm’s neck and nuzzled into his hair again. “I do not want you to be grim and alone.”

“Who said I was?”

“You did. I do not want to be grim and alone, either,” said Celebrimbor, and the depth of sadness in his voice made Celegorm tighten his grip around his nephew’s waist. “But I fear I shall be. There are few… few who want to spend time with me.” His voice faded out as his strong, calloused fingers pulled absently through Celegorm’s pale hair, turned dull gold in the light of the fire, and Celegorm looked up at him knowingly.

“Anyone who eschews your company is a fool,” he said. “You are a treasure a thousand times the worth of any of Felagund’s gems, and one could ask for no finer or nobler a companion.” He grinned. “Except perhaps Huan, but then, he does not fit in my lap.”

“Nor do I,” Celebrimbor pointed out, and Celegorm laughed.

“I’m sure we can work around that,” he said, and tugged Celebrimbor close. As Celebrimbor shifted across Celegorm’s thighs, Celegorm let his hand come to rest on Celebrimbor’s hip. Celebrimbor’s breath caught a little and he shifted again, not away from Celegorm’s touch but into it, and his movement against Celegorm was suddenly suggestive.

Celegorm grunted. “Careful,” he said, his voice rough. “You are bigger than you once were.” But as Celebrimbor looked down at him, the knowledge that flashed between them had nothing to do with the heaviness of his weight across Celegorm’s legs. Celebrimbor laid his hand over Celegorm’s where it rested on his hip, and then, deliberately, guided it beneath the hem of his rumpled tunic. Celegorm’s fingers moved across Celebrimbor’s hot skin and in the same moment, Celebrimbor leaned forward to press his lips to Celegorm’s, ungraceful but insistent.

For a moment – perhaps a full minute, for Celegorm was always loath to resist indulgence – Celegorm allowed the kiss, even closed his eyes to let himself know the taste and feel of Celebrimbor’s lips. But as Celebrimbor pressed forward more urgently, Celegorm planted a hand on his chest and pushed him back.

“No, pup.”

Celebrimbor’s eyes opened, dark with hunger and momentarily confused, and then in the space of a blink, hunger turned to mortification. He retreated so fast he nearly fell from the chair, and Celegorm reached out to grab his arm and prevent him from crashing to the floor. “Hey, now.”

“I’m sorry,” said Celebrimbor hoarsely. “I don’t know what I was thinking, I – I must be drunk, I am so sorry. Uncle – ”

Celegorm took a slow breath, trying to hold onto his resolve. “Don’t fret yourself so.”

“But – ”

“And don’t call me ‘Uncle’ in that husky voice of yours,” said Celegorm, shaking his head and running a hand through his hair as he let Celebrimbor go and got to his feet.

“What?”

“Nothing. Go to bed.” He stayed facing away as Celebrimbor got to his feet unsteadily, straightening his clothes, and slowly made his way across the room. He didn’t turn around as Celebrimbor hesitated at the door, and it wasn’t until he heard the latch snick shut behind Celebrimbor’s back that he let himself let out the groan he’d been holding back.

Then he stooped, picked up Celebrimbor’s discarded wine, and drained it in a long gulp. “Have I not been damned enough,” he muttered, already starting to unlace his breeches, aching to let his fingers take the edge off. “Curvo would _kill_ me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Acknowledgements** : It seems appropriate to mention that the reason I ever considered this ship was because I misread a line in a story by the very talented [crackinthecup](http://archiveofourown.org/users/crackinthecup) and was like ‘WHOA did that just imply Celegorm and Celebrimbor were hooking up?’ I quickly saw my error, but then started thinking about, well, what if… 
> 
> Me at first, texting Silje: lol that is so wrong. Why does that feel so wrong? It feels really yikes. What a terrible ship. It wouldn’t work and here’s why.  
> Us, five minutes later: So here’s how it would go…
> 
> Six months later, here we are with the Tyeldisaster (alt: Celecatastrophe.)
> 
> [Silje](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Cygnete/) has been my right-hand man on this, both in concept, ideas, and inspiration, as well as providing the usual encouragement and enablement of my bestworst choices (chapter 4’s existence is truly thanks to her.) 
> 
> I would also like to embrace/publicly shame [Kelsi](http://archiveofourown.org/users/thegreatpumpkin), who is a profound enabler as well and has helped keep me motivated with her endless ~~egging on~~ encouragement and the fact that I am now sure there will be at least one other person in the sinpit with us. She has also been remarkably tolerant of me sending her filthy excerpts out of nowhere as I demand ‘IS THIS A GOOD RIM JOB JOKE’


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Next on Nargothrond trope bingo: an awkward meal and a forge assignation.

Celebrimbor stayed away from him for a long while.

When they could not avoid each other, over meals or passing in the halls, Celebrimbor’s broad, handsome face would go red and he’d duck his head, avoiding his uncle’s gaze. For his part, Celegorm acted no differently than usual, but Curufin’s sharp eyes, which missed nothing, did not fail to miss the unnatural awkwardness between them.

“Why is my son being so odd?” Curufin asked abruptly, after Celebrimbor had all but fled the dinner table one night.

Celegorm grunted. “Embarrassed,” he said, sucking the last of the meat from a chicken bone, and then reaching into Curufin’s plate to scavenge his bones as well. “You done with this?”

“No.” Curufin dropped the flat of his knife against the back of Celegorm’s hand, and Celegorm winced and retreated. “Keep your fingers from where they have no right to be. Why is he embarrassed? What did you do?”

Celegorm shrugged, licking grease from his fingers. “Ahh, I saw him in a vulnerable moment.”

“What sort of vulnerable moment?”

Celegorm grinned but gave no answer other than a faintly suggestive twitch of the hand.

Curufin pursed his lips. “Seriously? Hasn’t he outgrown such pubescent pastimes? He is well beyond his majority, surely the crude urges of the body are not so – ” He broke off, annoyed, as Celegorm let out a guffaw. “What is so funny?”

“Oh, nothing,” said Celegorm cheerfully. “But that it is rich to hear you condemning the pleasures of self-gratification, when there have been no few times I have discovered you engaging in just such – ”

“Shut up,” said Curufin, his pale cheeks flushing.

“Like father, like son, eh?”

“ _Honestly_ ,” said Curufin, and got to his feet, smoothing the front of his robes. “Your sense of humor is beyond dubious.”

Celegorm gazed up at him, still merry. “And where are you off to?”

“None of your business. Just don’t come looking for me tonight.”

“Ah.” Celegorm’s face turned serious. “Finrod’s bed.”

Curufin didn’t answer, pushing in his chair and turning away.

“I am right, aren’t I?”

“Not necessarily the bed,” said Curufin over his shoulder, a cold smile curling his lips, and then he was gone, leaving Celegorm to his bones and the dregs of the wine.

Celegorm watched his brother leave, and then threw his bones over his shoulder to the eager hounds behind him.

 

* * *

 

Celebrimbor was in the forge, sweating over the bellows as he tried to work the heat up, a rough rag knotted around his forehead. Celegorm watched from the doorway without announcing himself. The muscles in Celebrimbor’s back knotted and bunched as he strained over the fire, and Celegorm thought, not for the first time, that his brother’s son shared more of Celegorm’s own physiognomy than Curufin’s. The heat began to build as the flames roared up, and Celebrimbor let out a small hiss of satisfaction, sweat dripping from his brow to sizzle on the hot stones. Celegorm felt the heat ease his tense muscles, and he leaned back more languorously against the doorframe, his head tilting against the wood. Celebrimbor bent to his work, and Celegorm loosened the laces of his tunic against the temperature, his fingers grazing against his collarbones and then absently stroking over the skin of his chest. Sweat was beginning to stand on his own skin, and the smoke and heat stung his eyes. He blinked, and Celebrimbor’s dark-haired form slid out of focus, drawn more lean and harsh against the backdrop of flame and iron. His hair fell over his shoulder in a lank tail, and Celegorm blinked again.

“You should properly braid your hair back,” he said, and Celebrimbor started and wheeled around.

“Uncle,” he said, and then flushed, backing up a little more quickly than was advisable in such close quarters to fire. “I didn’t know you were there.”

“Obviously,” said Celegorm, his arms folded over his chest now, his shirt carelessly open. He could smell Celebrimbor’s apprehension, like ozone in the heavy air. “Don’t fret, boy, I’m not here to confront you, I was just looking for company.”

“Oh.” Celebrimbor picked up his tongs and turned back to his work. “You’re welcome to join me, though I didn’t think you had much interest in forge work.”

 _No interest in forges, just their smiths_ , Celegorm thought, but didn’t say. “Your papa wanted to know why you were acting so odd around me.”

Celebrimbor’s shoulders tensed, and he bent more closely over his tools. “I… haven’t been acting odd around you.”

“You’ve been jumpy as a squirrel and have blushed as swift as a new bride every time you laid eyes on me.” Celegorm watched Celebrimbor closely, and could see a muscle twitch in his cheek as Celebrimbor tightened his jaw, clearly working to prevent another such blush.

“I said already that I was sorry,” said Celebrimbor jerkily, to the steel before him. His hands were very tight around the tongs, but the tongs themselves grasped nothing but air. There was a long silence, filled only by the crackle and hum of the forge. Then he said something so quietly that Celegorm leaned forward to catch it.

“What was that?”

“What did you tell him?” Celebrimbor wiped his forearm over his face, not meeting his uncle’s eyes. “My father.”

Celegorm shrugged. “I insinuated that I’d walked in on you pleasuring yourself and you were feeling bashful about it.”

Now Celebrimbor dropped the tongs and stared at him accusingly. “You _what_?”

“You would have preferred that I told him the truth?” Celegorm turned up the corner of his mouth in an ironic smile.

Celebrimbor scowled. “No! But you could think of nothing less humiliating than – ”

Celegorm ignored him. “I _could_ have told him that you came to me drunk and climbed into my lap – ”

“Uncle – ”

“ – and put those strong arms around my neck and pressed those sweet lips to my mouth – ”

“Don’t – ”

“ – and urged my hands beneath your clothes so that I could feel the heat of you.”

“ _Uncle_ ,” whispered Celebrimbor, agonized.

“And I told you not to talk like that,” said Celegorm softly. “Do _you_ want the truth, boy? Here’s a truth for you: If you’d turned back that night just minutes after I sent you away, it would not have been me discovering you with your cock in your hand, but the other way around.”

The tongs dropped to the floor with a clatter as Celebrimbor made an involuntary movement. He didn’t make to retrieve them though, staring at Celegorm like he was hypnotized.

Celegorm stared back at him unblinkingly, then nodded over his shoulder. “Your fire’s burning low,” he observed.

“It’s fine.”

“What were you meaning to work on tonight?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Work doesn’t matter?” Celegorm smiled with both sides of his mouth now. “Truly you are not your father’s son.”

“Shut up,” said Celebrimbor, in exactly Curufin’s tones.

“That is the second time this night I have been told to shut my mouth by one of you,” Celegorm mused. “You would think I could take the hint, but – ” He was cut off as Celebrimbor strode across the forge, not bothering to discard his gloves or apron, and took Celegorm’s face between his hands.

His lips were rough on Celegorm’s this time, not soft and wine-stained, and the leather of his gloves chafed against Celegorm’s skin.

Celegorm refused to start back or surge forward, waiting until he could taste Celebrimbor’s determination. When he was sure, he wrapped his hand over Celebrimbor’s side, squeezing the firm flesh, and raised the other to Celebrimbor’s cheek. Celebrimbor twitched at his touch and shook his heavy gloves off so that he could sink his fingers into Celegorm’s hair, pulling at him until he could feel Celegorm respond. Celegorm smiled and slid his fingers down Celebrimbor’s strong jawline, tilting Celebrimbor’s chin to adjust the angle of the kiss. Celebrimbor pulled in breath through his nose and then eased back, letting his lips explore Celegorm’s with less urgency.

Celegorm shifted forward in turn, his hand cupping the back of Celebrimbor’s head, and then his tongue was slipping between Celebrimbor’s lips.

Celebrimbor gasped, and clutched at his wrists. “Celegorm.”

“Too much? Too fast? I am afraid I lack the gifts of moderation and slowness, little nephew, which is why I sent you away when you came to me bathed in wine.” Celegorm drew back and thumbed roughly at Celebrimbor’s lips. “I wouldn’t have been able to resist you, and I need to know that I am not taking advantage of an addled state.”

“My state has been addled since I was a boy barely past his majority watching Alqualondë burn,” said Celebrimbor harshly. “And I don’t care how rough or fast you are, I want – ”

“What do you want?” said Celegorm, speaking each word deliberately.

“You.” Celebrimbor stared at him.

“I need to teach you to lie better,” murmured Celegorm, but he wrapped an arm around Celebrimbor’s waist and pulled him over to the forge’s one rough chair.

“I am not lying,” said Celebrimbor angrily. “Give me the respect of believing what words fall from my lips, even if you call me _pup_ and _little nephew_ and think me addled – ”

“You want me,” agreed Celegorm. “But we both know it is not so simple as that, yes? Though you are right, Celebrimbor,” he licked his lips to taste the syllables, rolling from his tongue like a hunter’s prayer, “you are not so addled, and not so little.” He dropped Celebrimbor into the chair and Celebrimbor fell back against it, legs splayed, and Celegorm knelt, pressing his hand between them.

Celebrimbor moaned, grabbing onto Celegorm’s shoulders, and Celegorm made an encouraging noise in the back of his throat.

“Yes, Tyelpe.”

“No,” muttered Celebrimbor, and Celegorm let his hand slide from between Celebrimbor’s legs to rest instead on his thigh. Celebrimbor grabbed for his hair again, not letting him go far, and said, “No, not that. Just don’t… don’t use that name.” His eyes, the same shade of grey as Curufin’s, dropped away from Celegorm. “Not tonight.”

“Understood,” said Celegorm, who did, and then, more gently than he had all night, “May I?”

Celebrimbor nodded and Celegorm rose up on his knees. He traced his nephew’s lips with a finger before pressing between them, and Celebrimbor parted his lips and sucked on the tip of Celegorm’s finger. Celegorm’s dark eyes grew darker, and his other hand stroked through Celebrimbor’s hair, brushing the tip of his ear. Then he pulled his hand away and kissed Celebrimbor deeply, pressing him back so that Celebrimbor slumped against the chair back, and Celegorm was half straddling one of his thighs.

There was the briefest of moments when doubt crept into his mind, and he looked into Celebrimbor’s face to see his brother’s eyes staring accusingly at him. Then Celebrimbor closed his eyes and pulled him back into a kiss, and Celegorm groaned.

“Celebrimbor,” he rumbled against his nephew’s lips, and Celebrimbor shuddered, and held onto him, and whispered, “Uncle.”

It should not have aroused Celegorm as much as it did, but: “Be damned,” he said to the ghosts of wisdom and his brother’s eyes, and jerked the ties of Celebrimbor’s apron open. “This chair is too small. Get onto the floor, my beauty.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Celebrimbor has some highly educational experiences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: This is just one big porn chapter, my dudes.

It become rapidly clear that while perhaps not virginal, Celebrimbor still fumbled through the act of love, his movements clumsy against Celegorm’s practiced ease.

Celegorm swore after Celebrimbor’s teeth grazed him and Celebrimbor pulled back, cheeks burning, and wiped his mouth. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I didn’t mean to – I’m no good at this.”

“You do not have to tell me,” said Celegorm, and then caught Celebrimbor into his arms, kissing him in some remorse even as he laughed at Celebrimbor’s expression of pure disappointment. “Ahh, don’t look so woeful, boy. What am I here for if not to teach you? Lay back, and pull your breeches down.” Celegorm licked his lips. “I’ll show you how it’s done.”

-

Celebrimbor had always been a swift learner.

He was always hungry for knowledge. 

In time, it grew easier to shrug off his father’s sharp glances and blink back at him with opaque docility. Soon, he could navigate the excruciating Nargothrond dinners without the aid of many goblets of wine (the wine had historically resulted, in any case, in a pounding headache and misery that was still present, just more messy). Now, when his father would lean away from him and towards the king instead, hand alighting on Finrod’s thigh beneath the table, Celebrimbor would simply look away, the burn in his chest distant and dull. Instead, he would turn into Celegorm’s light tug at his hair, the tickle of his uncle’s fingers at the back of his neck.

“Wait until you see what I have in mind for you tonight,” Celegorm would murmur, so quietly that none but Celebrimbor could hear, and slip his hand from Celebrimbor’s hair to trace down his spine. “Wear that slim belt of yours - with the knots, not the buckle - when you come to my room, I have plans for it.”

Celebrimbor would shiver in anticipation, and down his wine, and forget why the angle of his father’s chair had made him feel so wretched in the first place.

He grew familiar with the feel of fur against his bare skin, and the pleasures of a bearskin on a hard floor.

“You look beautiful in leather,” Celegorm purred, splay legged in the large chair by the fire. “You look beautiful in furs, and you look beautiful,” he caught Celebrimbor by the belt and hauled him close, “in nothing at all.”

"You told me to wear the leather and furs," Celebrimbor pointed out, as Celegorm spread a palm over his ass and nuzzled into his neck.

"Because it is all the more enjoyable to take you out of them," said Celegorm, and Celebrimbor learned that this was so. 

In turn, Celebrimbor learned that he liked when Celegorm came to him still reeking of the hunt, and that the wilder Celegorm appeared, the better.

"I think you are secretly as sick of the tidy indoors and high collars as I am," said Celegorm, grinning at the way Celebrimbor rose to his feet, staring openly at Celegorm's bloodstained leathers and matted braids. "You crave a bit of - ahh, watch where you grab - filth in the midst of this perfect fucking cave..." 

Celebrimbor didn't bother to respond, distracted by how hard just the smell of his uncle's skin was getting him as he wrapped his arms around Celegorm's waist. He was soon far more interested in all that he could do with his mouth that was not speech. This was a difference, he had learned, between him and his uncle: however aroused Celegorm was, very little kept him quiet. 

“You like it when I taste of blood, eh?” said Celegorm when Celebrimbor shoved him down with a growl, tearing at the heavy pelt Celegorm was wearing to expose him. “I never pinned you as the type, but that was my mistake... You like the disorder and scent, you like the musk of the hunt still on me when you – _Varda’s cunt_ , boy.” Celegorm let out a deep groan as Celebrimbor sank to his knees and took him into his throat. “Remind me to bring you hunting with me and I’ll take you in the viscera itself if it gets you this worked up.”

Celebrimbor learned things he had never considered a possibility, and he learned that he loved them.

“Is this even allowed?” he gasped one night, digging his fingers into the furs of Celegorm’s bed and trying not to shove himself back too eagerly.

“Who is going to disallow it?” Celegorm’s voice was slightly indistinct as he bent to his task, and Celebrimbor dropped his head between his arms, his cock so painfully hard he wondered if it could be healthy. “The kingdom? The gods? I think Eru has other things on his mind than my tongue in your arse.”

“Don’t say that,” groaned Celebrimbor. “As if Dispossession wasn’t enough, don’t mention Him when you’re – When you’re doing – Blessed fucking holy Valar, don’t stop, yes yes _yes_ …”

Celegorm didn’t say anything, his mouth otherwise occupied, but Celebrimbor could feel the satisfaction in his deep, silent laugh.

-

Usually, when they finally made it to the bed, Celegorm would roll Celebrimbor onto his stomach and take him hard, whispering tender obscenities into his ear, making him hurt and moan and come so hard that everything that plagued him – the fear and resentment and longing and confusion – was wiped away. But one night, when Celebrimbor propped himself on his elbows and knees, Celegorm slapped his broad thigh affectionately and shook his head.

“We’re going to do something different tonight.”

“Are we?” Celebrimbor rolled over and looked up at his uncle, whose hair was caught back in a braid tonight and whose face looked sharper and more intense without the usual fall of silver hair.

“Shame to waste that powerful body of yours,” said Celegorm, rolling out his neck and then pulling his tunic off over his head. “And it’s been too long since I’ve been taken.”

“Too long since – what?”

Celegorm rolled his eyes. “Too long since I’ve had a cock in me, boy. I want you to fuck me. Valar, for Curvo’s son, you can be remarkably slow on the uptake.”

Celebrimbor flushed, as he did every time Celegorm mentioned his father when they were in bed together. Sometimes the shrewd and suspicious part of his brain suspected Celegorm did it on purpose. “I – I don’t know how to please you.”

“Not yet. But I’ll show you.” Celegorm grinned, shucking his breeches, and stretched out provocatively against the pillows, widening his legs. “Come get between my thighs and let’s see what you’ve picked up from experience to start. Do you have the oil on you?”

But when Celebrimbor went to prepare him, reaching almost timidly behind Celegorm’s balls, Celegorm laughed and pushed his hand away. “Slick yourself up and that will be enough for me.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” protested Celebrimbor. “And you said it’s been a while…”

“I like it like that.” Celegorm’s teeth flashed white in the darkness. “And – forgive me, sweetheart – you have a lovely cock but it is not enough on its own to make me hurt like I need it. No preparation for me.”

-

Celebrimbor learned how to make it hurt.

He learned how best to make his uncle come with rough hands and bruises on his hips, and then, because Celegorm was generous, he showed Celebrimbor other ways, too. Someday, as he told Celebrimbor almost kindly, he might need to know how best to take someone who didn’t have as much of a need for roughness.

“Hah,” said Celebrimbor, “perhaps by the time the Void has claimed you I will actually have someone else who has an interest in me, but I doubt it.”

Celegorm complimented his bitterness – “Beautifully executed self-loathing, your father couldn’t have done better,” – and then instructed him to pay attention. Celebrimbor laughed despite himself, and heeded his lessons.

“That’s the way,” grunted Celegorm presently, his thighs tight around Celebrimbor’s waist. “No, grab my hips, then slide a hand under my back. One on my low back, the other – arse or upper thigh, dealer’s choice. Ahh, good instinct – just like that. Hold me close, not too tight, but press…deeper. Slow it down, pretend you have a lover who needs gentling. Nngh. Yes, keep – keep that rhythm…” His voice stuttered, and Celebrimbor smiled, a smug, wolfish smile he had also learned from his uncle.

“You learn quickly,” rasped Celegorm, when he could speak again, and Celebrimbor leaned down to kiss him.

“I had a good teacher.”

“So did I,” said Celegorm, a crooked smile on his lips, and then he grabbed for Celebrimbor’s shoulders as he came, choking out a word in a language Celebrimbor didn’t recognize.

-

One night, the light low and warm, an empty skin of spiced wine on the floor, Celebrimbor took his time, moving with Celegorm to make him cry out and moan in just such a way, and what was usually wilder, harder, and more ferocious became languorous and gentle.

 _Pretend_ , Celebrimbor thought to himself, _you have a lover who needs gentling_. And he allowed himself to wonder how good a liar his uncle was.

The wine was strong enough to make Celebrimbor's blood run high, but not so strong as to leave him heavy-headed and sleepy, and there was a tickle in the back of his mind, fantasies he hadn't allowed himself to indulge in for a long time swimming to the forefront of his consciousness. There was no light in the room but the fire in the grate, and outside, a mournful wind rang around the walls of Nargothrond. Celegorm's lips parted as he panted, and Celebrimbor slipped his tongue between them, his hands sliding up Celegorm's sweat-slick sides. 

Celegorm’s eyes fell closed and Celebrimbor pulled back to run a fingertip over his lashes where they rested on his cheek. Celegorm's fair hair was unbound and spread over the pillow, and Celebrimbor found himself touching it with near reverence. The fire burned low, and Celegorm let out a hum of pleasure that Celebrimbor wasn’t sure was even conscious. The pleasure was so slow to build that Celebrimbor felt lazy and intoxicated, his focus wavering between the need in his loins and the looping whirls of fantasy that kept him drifting away from the warm room. Celegorm kept his eyes closed, his breath puffing out against Celebrimbor’s collarbones, and Celebrimbor’s mind wandered like it did when he was drunk. There were green gems at Celegorm’s ears tonight, green set in gold, a design Celebrimbor thought might even have been Fëanor's from a lifetime ago. The earrings were unusually subtle for Celegorm's taste, and Celebrimbor found himself fixated on them. Green stone drops against golden-lit hair, long loose hair spread out beneath them, and Celebrimbor ran his fingers against the jewels with his eyes half closed, then tenderly traced the tip of a delicate ear. So fine, so beautiful, golden hair and green gems…

Celegorm slapped him.

Celebrimbor started back, shocked and confused, the languor falling away. He hadn’t even noticed that Celegorm had opened his eyes. Celegorm didn’t raise his voice, didn’t even look angry, but the blow he’d laid across Celebrimbor’s cheekbones burned.

“Another lesson for you, boy,” said Celegorm, calmly. “If you’re going to pretend I’m someone else, have the decency to keep it behind your eyes.”

Celebrimbor opened his mouth but said nothing.

“It’s fair enough,” Celegorm went on. “You are welcome to think of whomever you wish when you’re fucking me, or to pretend I’m a different sort of bed-mate, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t do the same of a time. But it is simply bad manners to let your lover know.” His fingers brushed, surprisingly soft, over the mark on Celebrimbor’s face, and Celebrimbor flinched. The slap hadn’t taken away his ardor, but the shame did, and he felt himself slip from between Celegorm’s thighs.

“I wasn’t thinking of him,” he said, and it made the lying easier to half believe it.

Celegorm stared at him. “Better,” he said after a while. “But it still needs work.”

In that moment it occurred to Celebrimbor that he would never be able to truly effectively lie to Celegorm, not when Celegorm was used to the enigma and perfected lie that was Curufin.

(And after all, for how many years had he been made to know he was being held to the standards set by his father? Lying was just another in his list of failed skills.)

He wanted to weep, suddenly, thinking of the gentleness he couldn’t reach anymore, and for the betrayal of the dying fire.

“I know I’m a poor substitute anyway,” said Celegorm, and rolled them over so he was on top of Celebrimbor, pressing him down. “Wrong build, wrong height, and whatever lies the light tells you….” He kissed Celebrimbor on his closed lips, and it felt like forgiveness and indictment all in one. “My hair is the wrong color.”

Celebrimbor closed his mouth, so his lies couldn't reveal him. He closed his eyes, so he couldn’t see any colors at all.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Arafinwion element holds council.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. Because Silje convinced me that a freaked out Orodreth is exactly what this story needs. As an added bonus I've thrown in Finrod going full Dumbledore.

Orodreth burst into Finrod’s chambers, out of breath and flushed with excitement. Finrod looked up from his writing desk, his fine golden brows drawing quizzically together as he laid down his quill.

“Brother? Are you well?”

“You will never guess,” panted Orodreth, “what I have seen. This is it, Findaráto – This will be the end of them, it must be – ”

“Slow down,” said Finrod, looking more and more concerned. “Take a breath and have a seat.” He rose from his chair and swept over to the crystal decanter on the end table as Orodreth feverishly checked that the door was latched behind him. “Let me pour you some lemon water.”

Orodreth pushed the glass away impatiently as Finrod offered it to him, but sank down in the chair beside Finrod’s. He scraped his lank, straw-colored hair out of his face and said, “You must know what abomination I have witnessed not twenty minutes ago.”

“By all means, tell me,” said Finrod quietly.

“Those cousins of yours,” said Orodreth, apparently forgetting for a moment that any cousins of Finrod’s were also cousins of his. “Did I not tell you they would bring only sin and ill fortune to our halls? I was not wrong!”

Finrod’s composure remained as undisturbed, his voice quite calm next to Orodreth’s increasingly shrill tone. “Brother, what exactly did you see?”

Orodreth shuddered and took the lemon water after all, drinking too quickly and sloshing some down his front. Now that the time had come to tell his story, it seemed he was rather lost for the words to describe it. “You don’t have wine, do you?”

“Perhaps it would be better to stick to water for now. But do tell me what has caused your distress.” Finrod took the empty glass from his brother and refilled it. “Do not keep me in suspense any longer.”

* * *

_Orodreth had taken to finding his way back to his rooms from the central hall of Nargothrond via the infrequently trafficked hallways used primarily to access the guest wings. He had started to do this after Gwindor had taken to popping up around every corner, eager to share with him his apparently endless ideas; thoughts on everything from better training regimes for the warriors of Nargothrond to possible names for his and Finduilas’ hypothetical children._

_Orodreth had no reason to disapprove of Gwindor, and thought him a fine young man in general – certainly not the worst choice Finduilas could have made – but his enthusiasm was beginning to wear on his future father-in-law. Orodreth had contemplated commissioning some pointed calligraphy for Gwindor to hang in his quarters – “Silence is golden”, perhaps, or “Less is more” - but had dismissed the notion as heavy-handed. Instead, he took the less admirable but certainly less offensive option of simply avoiding his daughter’s betrothed and his limitless baby names. If they planned on using every name Gwindor was enthusiastic about, Orodreth thought wearily, then they must be expecting a brood to rival even that of Finwë's eldest._

_As his thoughts wandered to the excessive offspring of Fëanor and Nerdanel, Orodreth hit his toe on an uneven stone. Suppressing a yelp of pain, he bent to rub at it. He straightened up, thinking grimly that this was what he got for comparing his future grandchildren to a passel of Fëanorions. In the moment before he started walking again, laughing voices reached him, echoing down the passage. He paused, listening intently, wondering if Gwindor had found him after all._

_Instead he recognized Celegorm’s voice almost at once, low and rolling and wicked. Orodreth hesitated, hating as he did to be within the radius of Celegorm’s cruel humor. Some things had not changed since they were children, and Celegorm’s cheerful and unhidden scorn for Orodreth was one of them. Perhaps avoiding his cousin would be worth taking the long way back around the perimeter of Nargothrond…_

_But then he heard some of what Celegorm was saying beneath the chuckles, and he paused, morbidly intrigued._

_“…so impatient, and to think they call_ me _hasty. You like that, do you? Maybe a little too much, hey, too much to get back to the room…” Celegorm laughed again, warm and dangerous at once, and murmured, “By damn, you’re hard.”_

_Listening, Orodreth flushed inadvertently, suddenly realizing he was overhearing what was undoubtedly an assignation._

_“Hush,” said a second voice, indistinct and breathless, and Orodreth frowned, trying to place it. It was familiar, but he couldn’t tell – “You never – you never intended to get back to the rooms – you wanted – ”_

_“What did I want?”_

_“You wanted me like this,” whispered the other voice. “Against the wall.”_

_“Wrong,” said Celegorm. “I wanted you over that railing there.” There was a sound like tearing fabric, and another low laugh, followed by a creak like an iron railing being placed under considerable weight. “Hold yourself up, what good will those braw arms do you if you don’t put them to use? By the Valar, it is good to have one as strong as you, the things we can try…”_

_Orodreth couldn’t swallow his curiosity any longer. His heart beating hard in his throat, he peeked around the corner._

* * *

“Say that again. Who was Tyelkormo with?” Finrod was looking at him very closely.

Orodreth wiped his mouth, suddenly looking a little unwell. “I told you. The boy – His nephew. Celebrimbor. Curufin’s brat.”

Finrod’s gaze was unnervingly penetrating. “You are sure of this? After all, a dark-haired male of that description could be any number of Noldor – ”

“It was Celebrimbor,” snapped Orodreth, his loud voice betraying his rising temper. “I saw his – I am quite certain. That blond beast is sodomizing his brother’s son.”

“Ah.” Finrod leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers and pressing them to his lips thoughtfully.

Orodreth stared at him, transparently frustrated with his lack of reaction. “Well? This is clearly the kind of depraved behavior we cannot condone in our kingdom, and a sign of the depths to which the Fëanorions have sunk. Have they no better options than rutting with their own blood? I suppose not.” He rose from his chair and started to pace. “This shows clearly that their ill judgment and actions do not stop with the deeds of the past but taint present behavior as well, and more will surely reveal itself in future. Of course, you will have to throw them out. We cannot have such depravity, such creatures in our realm, potentially influencing our young people – ” He paused, a queasy look passing over his face. “To think that boy spends time with my daughter! But will you tell Curufin? You don’t suppose he knows already?”

“No,” said Finrod softly. “I do not suppose he does.”

Orodreth’s eyes flashed, almost eager. “He should be informed. And then they should be expelled at once. This is just the sort of thing we have been looking for, Ingoldo. I know you have felt responsible for their safety and well-being following their flight from Himlad, but we have the excuse now to overrule any overly generous sense of duty.” He rounded on his brother, for Finrod was once again being thoughtful and silent. “Must you sit there so silently? Do you disagree?”

Finrod took his time responding. “Did it appear to you to be consensual?”

“What? I mean, yes, the boy seemed to be enjoying it well enough.”

“You say boy, but he is not so much a boy as all that. He has been of age since before they sailed to Middle-earth.”

“In our people’s raped ships!” snarled Orodreth. “In case you had forgotten. But what is your _point_?”

“They hurt no one with their dalliance,” said Finrod gently. “It is shocking and unconventional to be sure, and if they are in the habit of semi-public exhibitions I would encourage them to be more discreet for the consideration of everyone, but – ”

“But?” Orodreth looked horrified. “It is _incest_ , Findaráto.”

“One finds comfort where one can,” said Finrod, and he was not looking at Orodreth now, but some distant horizon. “I know our taboos exist for a reason, but I can’t but think that there are far graver sins to commit.”

Orodreth sat down, rather abruptly. “I have always known your hopeless liberalism would run you off a cliff at some point. You do not think incest is so grave a sin?”

“No.” Finrod smiled faintly. “I suppose I do not.”

“You are beyond the pale, Ingoldo,” murmured Orodreth “What would Father say?”

Finrod did not respond to this rhetoric, letting Orodreth hang in his calm silence a while longer.

“I am aware that,” Orodreth fidgeted, “that despite what the laws say, few consider the cousin taboo to be all that dire. I suppose I myself do not find it so horribly offensive. But an uncle and nephew… It is so perverse, and two males, at that!” He caught his brother’s eye and looked hastily at his lap. “Though I suppose that last part is not so dire either, by some counts. Anyway. Does your liberal acceptance extend to all combinations, then? What if they were even more closely related? Brothers?” He half swallowed the last word.

Finrod shrugged. “As I said, I believe there are greater sins. And if no one is being harmed, what business is it of mine to step in and cry foul?”

Orodreth sagged back in his chair, staring at Finrod as though he had never seen him clearly before. “So you will not be throwing them out.”

“Not for this, no,” said Finrod, and poured himself some of the lemon water.

“And you will not be telling Curufin?”

Finrod hesitated. “No,” he said finally.

Orodreth slumped into his chair, confused and angry, and after a while, Finrod smiled at him. “Was there anything else you wished of me, Artaresto?”

“No,” said Orodreth weakly. “There is nothing.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we consider Celebrimbor’s father, and Celebrimbor’s father in turn considers his son, plays Elven Risk-Chess, and drinks some wine. This is Nargothrond fic, of course there’s wine. 
> 
> Or, my working title for this chapter: Awk dad factor.

A quirk of Celebrimbor’s that amused Celegorm was that he tried to avoid Quenya where he could.

“Are you afraid that Thingol will hunt you down and chastise your tongue?” Celegorm asked one night, flicking teasingly at Celebrimbor’s ear.

“No,” said Celebrimbor shortly. “Stop, Celegorm.”

“Call me Tyelkormo,” murmured Celegorm, but Celebrimbor shook his head, and when Celegorm tried, “Tyelpe,” Celebrimbor looked at him with no amusement at all.

Celegorm hummed. “Is it because your father calls you by that name?”

“My father calls me Tyelperinquar,” said Celebrimbor, fixing his eyes on the ceiling and not responding when Celegorm nuzzled at his throat.

“I can call you that,” said Celegorm, grinning his wicked grin. “If it stirs you.” He laughed as Celebrimbor shoved at him, his face twisting in disgust. “So that is where the line lies, does it? I shall remember that.”

 

* * *

 

“Tyelperinquar.”

Celebrimbor stiffened, then straightened up, smoothing down his apron and composing his expression before he turned to face his father.

Curufin was frowning at his son’s forge, his arms folded over his own work apron as he surveyed the scene. “What are you doing?”

“I am raking yesterday’s coals in preparation for today’s fire,” said Celebrimbor after a pause, replying in crisp Sindarin even though his father had addressed him in Quenya.

“I can see that is what you are doing,” said Curufin. “What I am wondering is why your coals – and your fire – are cold.”

Celebrimbor stared at his father. “Because I have not _lit_ them yet, Ata- Father.”

“Don’t be smart with me. I am simply surprised that you did not have them lit already, giving the lateness of the hour. Or even that they would not still be smoldering from last night.” Curufin was studying his son with as much curiosity as accusation. “It is not uncommon for you to work through the night and start again in the morning before the coals have even cooled.”

Celebrimbor shrugged. “I was doing other things earlier.”

“And last night?”

Celebrimbor rolled his eyes. “Sleeping, amazingly.”

“That’s not like you,” murmured Curufin. “What things – other than your sleep, which I suppose I cannot criticize – are so much more interesting than your work?”

Celebrimbor jerked his gloves straight and then scratched at an ear, which was faintly flushed in the light of the lanterns. “There are those who manage to find an interest in more than a single activity. Even you, Father, occasionally give your attention to more than your craft.” His voice was carefully polite, but Curufin cocked his head, his gaze more piercing than ever.

But if he read a double meaning into his son’s words, he did not say so. “And just what – or who – is holding this newfound attention of yours?”

Celebrimbor had turned back to his tools as Curufin spoke the word ‘who,’ running a rag over his poker and clattering the iron rather more than was necessary. “What? Sorry to be rude, Father, but as you pointed out, I’m getting a late start. If I want to get Finduilas’ coronet finished in time, I need to get moving.”

“The princess will not wish to wait,” said Curufin softly. “Yes, indeed. I won’t…distract you further.” He lingered another moment though, watching as Celebrimbor bent to his task. Just once he made a movement as if he was going to speak again, or even approach Celebrimbor and lay a hand to his shoulder. But instead he retrained himself and swept about to go to his own work, his boots making no sound on the ashy floor as he left.

When Celebrimbor next chanced a glance to the door, he was gone.

 

* * *

 

Finrod studied the board carefully, then picked up the quartz stone figure of his commander, and moved it two tiles up.

Curufin looked peeved.

“Rout,” said Finrod placidly, and twiddled his thumbs.

“It’s only rout if I cannot muster my troops from the frontlines,” said Curufin, eyes scanning the board. “And I – ”

“Cannot,” said Finrod. “Because, see, I put your garrison leader in a pincer to the east three moves ago.”

“Damn,” said Curufin, and took an irritated sip of his wine.

They were playing a strategy game from the court of Melian that Galadriel had sent Finrod several months before. Finrod had been playing against his sister via messenger pigeon, but had decided that playing with someone actually present might be easier. Curufin had therefore been joining him in evening games, a pastime that had enhanced their usual activity of drinking, double-speak, and the inevitable dismantling of carefully chosen wardrobes.

Finrod was quite good at the strategy game, and Curufin still rather bad, a fact which annoyed him to no end, though he was catching up rapidly.

“Your problem, my dear,” said Finrod, swirling his wine glass, “is that – ”

“ _Do_ tell me what my problem is. You know I enjoy character dissection almost as much as condescending epithets.”

“ – is that you treat every progression as if it is a last, desperate attempt, and throw too much behind it, leading to far greater losses.” Finrod looked thoughtful. “It is not what I would suspect from you, who are generally so circumspect in your actions. I would expect you to better protect your rear, hem, as it were, and to proceed with more calculated caution. This boldness bordering on recklessness – and subsequent tendency to get your arse kicked, if you’ll excuse my language – is, I suspect, some echo of your father’s last – ”

“Continue that sentence, Felagund, and expect an arse-kicking of your own,” said Curufin, finishing his wine. “Have we not agreed that progenitors are strictly off limits during our little conversations, lest I be forced to take on the feather-stuffed, gold-glazed, oyster-sucking naïf _you_ call Father?”

Finrod chuckled, apparently unoffended by this invective.

Curufin brushed his braid over his shoulder and crossed his legs. “As for my gameplay, I am simply trying out different strategies for this game and discarding those that don’t work. It is a trial and error process and with nothing ventured, nothing gained. Do not attempt to analyze, it is a most annoying and ultimately fruitless habit.”

“If you say so,” said Finrod, still smiling at him. He nudged his shin gently under the table. “Your move.”

As Curufin grudgingly yielded a battalion of his own jade pieces to Finrod’s amethyst ranks, he propped his hand on his chin, his mind apparently going elsewhere. “Have you noticed that my son has been acting rather differently, of late?”

“Celebrimbor?”

“No, my other son. Yes, of course Celebrimbor.” Curufin spun a scout piece moodily between his fingers. “He has seemed distracted and witholding. I am pleased to see him less temperamental and brooding than has been his wont since Himlad fell, but unexplained change in the boy disquiets me.”

“Why is that?”

“I am concerned that he might be forming unseemly attachments.”

Finrod fell very abruptly silent, but Curufin did not seem to notice.

“I have tried to remind him that Orodreth’s girl is bequeathed to that solider fellow, the one who is always trying to curry favor with your brother, and that it does him no good to keep tagging along after her like he does, but – ”

Finrod’s eyes widened in understanding, and then he laughed softly. “Finduilas and Celebrimbor are friends, Curvo.”

“Don’t be stupid, what do they have in common? No, I fear he desires her and nurses a vain hope that she will return his favor, mixed with the usual messy urges. Tyelkormo insinuated something about how he found Tyelperinquar engaging in – Well, without going into grisly details, I fear a delayed youthful vigor has taken him, and he is experiencing some lustful attraction to the princess.” Curufin sighed. “How much _easier_ would it have been if he’d gone through such adolescent idiosyncrasies in his actual adolescence! To start, I could have enlisted his mother’s help. She was brilliant when it came to concocting strategies for dealing with irrational quirks of personality.” Curufin dropped the piece he’d been spinning and had to hunt on the ground for it, discovering it at last in a fold of Finrod’s robes. As Finrod shifted in his seat, Curufin straightened up and continued. “I should arrange for a better match for Tyelperinquar, but the last time I offered you would think I had proposed that he cut off his manhood and present it to the court on the next feast day. When the boy will finally grow up I do not know, but he persists in acting queerly.”

“Has it occurred to you to ask him what might be going on?” said Finrod quietly.

Curufin scoffed. “He would not tell me if anything was. He has always been shy and odd when it comes to such things.” He watched as Finrod moved another amethyst piece across the board. “I do not blame him for that. I myself never wished to speak to my own father about matters of the heart or body, but kept it to myself or sought…other counsel, when necessary.” He raised his glass to his lips again, apparently too preoccupied to notice it was empty. “But perhaps I should set him more projects, to take his mind from wherever it is. I always found it helpful when my own father did so for me.”

“Curvo,” said Finrod, with the air of someone wrestling with a decision. “Have you... Have you considered…”

Curufin frowned at his empty glass and reached for the wine jug. “What?”

Finrod blew out a breath, like he had lost the trail of a thought, or his nerve. “Nothing.”

“Yes, quite.” Curufin filled his glass and topped off Finrod’s. He still appeared to be thinking. “Ah well, he can speak to Tyelkormo if he is troubled. He has always liked my brother better than me.” He shrugged, as if this mattered little to him. “Tyelkormo will be better at handling Tyelpe’s poor woes of the loins, anyway.”

He looked up when Finrod did not seem able to reply to this. “Is it my move?” He moved his sentinel and nudged Finrod’s shin in turn. “There, consider yourself under siege.”

 

* * *

 

The siege took up most of the rest of the game, and afterward Curufin could not remember who had technically won. They spoke no more of fathers or sons, but to rather more entertaining matters of gameplay, philosophy, and eventually, anatomy.

It was, as ever, an evening most enlightening and satisfying. Finrod’s wine was strong, his teeth were sharp, and his voice in Curufin’s ear, as they acquainted themselves more intimately with the study of anatomy, very sweet.

It was a good night, for all it ended in rout.

 

* * *

 

 

The hour was very late when Celegorm yanked open his door to repeated rapping, and raised an eyebrow at Curufin, who stood before him disheveled. “What do you need, little brother?”

“Let me in,” said Curufin, making to push past Celegorm, but Celegorm blocked his passage and instead caught his chin, tipping his face up. He bent down and sniffed at him. “You come to me smelling of him and wish me to let you in?” He released his brother, and settled into the doorway even more squarely. “Audacious, that is.”

“It has never bothered you before,” said Curufin impatiently. “I wish to speak to you.”

“So late?” Celegorm gave a smile that was not quite a smile. “You are usually more interested in conversing with the king once the hour gets this far past midnight.”

“Stop being so perverse,” said Curufin, rolling his eyes. “I have concluded my conversation with Felagund and now I wish to converse with you instead.”

Celegorm curled a lip, a white incisor glinting in the dark. “How flattering. But I wish to sleep undisturbed. You can speak to me in the morning.”

“Are you truly turning me away?” Curufin’s eyes narrowed and he tried to look over Celegorm’s shoulder. “Do you have someone in there with you?”

“Did you think that that you are the only one allowed a whore?” Celegorm’s voice was mocking. “Go away, Curvo, I’ll find you tomorrow.”

“You are a fool if you trust one of the castle slatterns to come to your bed and not wish to spy.”

“Oh, aye, bedding the king is far less foolish. Go to bed and leave me to mine, I am in no mood to be lectured.” Celegorm shut the door in Curufin’s face before he could reply and turned back to his room. He turned back again after his hand had left the doorknob, a thought striking him, and slid the lock home.

Only partially concealed in the heavy furs of the bed, Celebrimbor slept on.

Celegorm dragged a hand over his face, then shook himself and made his way back to the bed. Celebrimbor had half tossed himself free of the furs, one well-muscled leg splayed out. He always ran hot, too hot for the skins that adorned Celegorm’s bed, but he loved the feeling of fur against his bare skin.

 _A sensualist,_ Celegorm thought. _Another way in which I cannot tell if you are just like Curvo or as far from him as can be._ He ran a hand up his nephew’s heavy thigh, and Celebrimbor sighed in his sleep, shifting into Celegorm’s touch.

Celegorm sometimes wondered if he was disappointed or relieved that Celebrimbor was not more like his father. He further wondered, as his hand traced up Celebrimbor’s thigh, if Curufin might even now be still in the hall, listening.

He bent down and kissed Celebrimbor awake, deciding he didn’t care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. Did you know there’s a myth that amethyst protects you from drunkenness?  
> 1\. I hope you enjoyed the last chapter relatively free of emotional destruction, bonzos.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finrod is lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. Warnings for Grief and How Not To Do It, lots of fucked up feelings, and some fucked up fucking. Or: if Celegorm is the emotional crutch for half of Nargothrond, things aren’t good.

Nargothrond felt quieter without its king.

Nargothrond felt colder.

“He will return,” Finduilas said, with lessening certainty each day.

“He is dead,” said Curufin, when it was just he and Celegorm alone.

Celegorm did not question his certainty. “Then we are truly victorious,” he said, never taking his eyes off his brother.

“Yes.” Curufin’s eyes had a mad gleam to them, and Celegorm thought of their father. “We are victorious.” But he did not smile in triumph, and he did not laugh in satisfaction, and Celegorm studied him closely.

“Orodreth will fight us,” he said, and then Curufin’s lip did curl, but in derision rather than pleasure.

“Orodreth is no threat to us,” he said dismissively. “You know how many we have on our side. And even those who feel comforted by an Arafinwion presence on the throne have little faith in Orodreth’s strength. If he put his daughter on the throne then we might have cause to worry, but him? A faded, milksop echo of his brother’s strength.” Curufin stared into the fire. “I do not fear him.”

“Not like you feared Felagund.”

Curufin did not answer, and soon Celegorm rose to his feet and left while Curufin never tore his gaze away from the flames.

-

Celegorm had seen less of Celebrimbor since Finrod’s departure, but when he returned to his rooms he found his nephew there. Celebrimbor was sitting on the hearthrug, arms wrapped over his knees, and when he raised his face to the door, Celegorm saw that he had been weeping.

“Burned yourself in the forge, did you?” Celegorm crossed the room and threw himself down on an armchair, stretching out his legs.

Celebrimbor shook his head, tears spilling from his eyes. “He is not coming back, is he?”

“No,” said Celegorm carelessly. “He is dead.”

Celebrimbor made a rough sound, a swallowed sob. “It is not…it is not like you think,” he said indistinctly, when Celegorm looked away from his tears. “I do not grieve because I longed for him, not like that, but… He was, he was always kind to me. He was a good soul.” More tears slid down his cheeks, but Celebrimbor did not seem ashamed of or angered by them, like Curufin would have been. “He was warm,” he said softly. “In cold times, his very presence was warmth. He was wise, and he was true. I felt more secure in the knowledge that he was there, guiding us. The world is less good without him. We are all less safe without him.”

Celegorm gave a short laugh. “You should not include myself and your father in that ‘we’, boy.”

“He would never have harmed you,” said Celebrimbor, quietly but fervently. “I do not care what you or my father say, he would never.”

“Maybe not,” said Celegorm, unlacing his boots impatiently. “He always was a fool.”

“Don’t,” said Celebrimbor, anger and grief cracking his voice. “Not now, of all times. I know you never liked him, but let me…let me… Let those who loved him mourn his death, for Eru’s sake.”

“Must he be mourned on my hearthrug?”

Celebrimbor got to his feet, glaring down at Celegorm through his tears. “You are such a bastard sometimes. I do not know why I even thought to come here, other than I simply did not wish to be alone. I am the fool for thinking that your company would be better than nothing, clearly you wish nothing but to scorn and mock and be cruel– ”

“Tyelpe.” Celebrimbor reached out and caught Celebrimbor’s wrist wearily as he made to storm off. “Come here.”

“No.”

“Lad,” said Celegorm, more gently. “Forgive me. Come here.” He tugged Celebrimbor inexorably back to himself, and when Celebrimbor finally yielded, dropping to his knees and letting his head sink into Celegorm’s lap, Celegorm stroked his hair. “Go ahead and grieve our cousin, sweetheart. Ignore me.”

“Can I stay?” whispered Celebrimbor, his arms tight around Celegorm’s waist.

Celegorm hesitated only a moment. “Of course.”

Celebrimbor fell asleep in Celegorm’s arms, both of them bare against the sheets of Celegorm’s bed, sweat drying on their skin. Celebrimbor’s soft kiss goodnight had swiftly turned into more, Celebrimbor’s hands feverish against Celegorm’s flesh, and Celegorm had met his desperation with a ferocity of his own. Both of them ended with bruises, and Celebrimbor had fallen asleep almost immediately. Celegorm gazed at the patterns of light on the ceiling, ran his fingers over Celebrimbor’s back, and did not sleep.

A notion took him in the middle of the night, and he rose carefully, pulling free of Celebrimbor’s heavy arms, and paced out into the hallways, naked but for loose breeches.

As he had suspected, he found Curufin in Finrod’s room.

No lights were lit, and it was only Celegorm’s sharp eyes that could pull out the dark figure of his brother, a deeper shadow in the dead king’s bedchamber. Curufin was fully dressed, though his hair was falling free of its tight braid as his head dropped back against the stone.

Every instinct told Celegorm to stride into the room and take his brother into his arms; to pull his brother up from the floor where he was slumped against the wall; to take his brother back to his rooms and shut that damned door behind him, to lock it and refuse to let Curufin back to the place of his dead lover, his vanquished rival.

But instead he just watched his brother’s still form for a while, waiting for Curufin to move, and when he never did, Celegorm turned and went back to his bed.

- 

He let it continue another month before he decided to end it.

“Enough, brother,” he said, emerging from the shadows by Finrod’s door as Curufin drew close to it.

Curufin started back, eyes narrowing at the sight of him. “What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you, crafty one.” Celegorm folded his arms. “Thou art like the dog that returns to its dead master’s grave day after day.”

Curufin’s pale cheeks flushed a deep red. “Bite your tongue, wretch. No creature living has ever been my master, and if you call me a dog again I will tear your eyes out.”

“Then stop acting like a pathetic whelp,” said Celegorm mercilessly. “You are triumphant, stop acting like a heartbroken child.”

“Heartbroken? How dare you?” Curufin whirled on him, his hand outstretched and his nails out so that when he struck Celegorm across the face, he would bloody him. But Celegorm caught his hand before he could touch him.

“Tell me I’m wrong,” he said softly, bending Curufin’s arm back, and Curufin went white with pain.

“You are wrong,” hissed Curufin. “Do you begrudge me the right to gloat over Felagund’s fall in the very chambers in which I orchestrated his destruction? Call me petty in my victory, call it a childish instinct, but call me pathetic or heartbroken and I will – ” He broke off, choking with the pain of Celegorm’s relentless fingers on his wrist. “Tyelko!”

Celegorm bore down another moment, drinking in the fear and rage rising in Curufin, and then released him contemptuously, shoving him back.

Curufin staggered.

“You have gloated enough. It is time to rule.” Celegorm jerked his chin at the carved door, which gaped open into the dark rooms beyond. “Close the door. Lock it. The king is dead and we are ascendant.” He took Curufin’s chin between his fingers and tilted his face up. “Orodreth is king in name only,” he said softly. “You are the one who _reigns_ , my brother _._ ”

Curufin caught his breath, staring up into Celegorm’s eyes.

“You have won,” whispered Celegorm, his eyes locked on his brother’s. “You are no lost child, you are no bereaved lover. Take your place like the ruler you are. Like the king you should be.”

Celegorm’s fingers grazed Curufin’s pulse point, and felt his heartbeat accelerate. He smiled, watching Curufin’s pupils dilate in the darkness. “Father would be proud of all you have accomplished.”

Curufin made a sound, and in the next moment, he was shoving Celegorm against the wall.

“As proud as I am,” Celegorm added, before Curufin seized his lips in a violent kiss. 

They pulled Finrod’s door shut, and Curufin fumbled a key from an inner pocket to lock it, the bolt sliding home with a dull, resonant _clunk_. Then Celegorm watched as Curufin shoved the key under the crack beneath the door.

The king’s inner sanctum was sealed from the rest of Nargothrond.

“Yes,” whispered Curufin, his eyes glittering very brightly. “Yes, he has no power here, anymore.”

“Too right,” said Celegorm, and pulled Curufin close, kissing him hard. Then he took the knife from the sheath at his waist – Curufin pulled in a harsh breath – and, still holding onto Curufin, etched a crude, eight-pointed star over the delicate carvings on Finrod’s door.

Curufin groaned, and it sounded a moment like he was in pain before he slammed his own back to the door, above the star, and dragged Celegorm against him.

“Here?” murmured Celegorm. “When it has been so long since we – ”

“Here,” said Curufin. “Now.”

Celegorm did not protest.

He had Curufin’s robes shoved up over his hips and his own cock out as he pressed his brother against the door when there came voices in the hallway perpendicular to them. Celegorm immediately slapped a hand over Curufin’s mouth.

Curufin moaned.

“Hush,” whispered Celegorm, listening.

One voice was Finduilas’, high and sweet, ringing out as clearly as the click of her shoes on the stones. Her companion's voice was inaudible, but the accompanying footsteps were both softer and heavier. 

Curufin, barely coherent, writhed beneath Celegorm’s heavy weight.

“Shut up,” said Celegorm, under his breath. “Do you want us heard?”

“Who cares?” snarled Curufin. “Who cares, now, who the fuck cares who knows, these petty, miserable – ”

“Mad creature,” hissed Celegorm. “Shut _up_.”

He dragged Curufin back, out of sight into a small alcove, just as the shadows of the two walkers paused at the end of the hall. Celegorm pushed Curufin's chest against the wall. He was practically strangling his brother to keep him quiet now, but he had recognized the voice of Finduilas’ companion.

Celebrimbor.

“Have you been by his room yet?”

“I couldn’t bring myself to,” came the quiet reply. “It is too much like visiting a mausoleum. I would rather it be sealed as it was when he left it, his last moments in Nargothrond preserved in how he snuffed out the candle by his bedside or smoothed down the coverlet…”

Curufin made a noise, heedless of Celegorm’s warnings, his ardor not diminished by the bruises Celegorm’s hands were leaving on him. He ground his hips back demandingly, and even as he held his breath Celegorm obligingly wrapped one hand around his arousal, while leaving the other around his brother’s throat.

The footsteps paused at the end of the hallway. “I am glad the servants shut his door. It bothered me to see it standing open like that.”

“Please do not make me go further, princess,” said Celebrimbor quietly. “It is too difficult for me yet to see.”

“I understand.” Finduilas’ musical voice was painfully gentle. “My father too has been struggling…”

Celegorm had stopped moving. Curufin, pressed to the wall, could hear far less than Celegorm could, and at any rate seemed to be too far gone to care for any presence in the world but their own. He merely shoved himself back into his brother’s hands, panting hoarsely around the hold Celegorm had on his throat.

“Be still,” Celegorm growled into his ear, tightening his grasp on Curufin's throat and releasing his cock. “They are not gone yet.”

Curufin had to be on the edge of blacking out beneath Celegorm’s merciless fingers, but he was still talking despite the rough stone against his cheek. “I don’t care, let them see, I want – ”

“ _Quiet_ , by damn.” Celegorm swore, but could not keep himself from thrusting into his brother’s body as he did. Celebrimbor was speaking again, too softly for him to make out the words over the rush of blood in his ears. “Damn,” whispered Celegorm again and spat into his palm. He closed his eyes, pressing his forehead between Curufin's shoulders, and returned his hand.

The footsteps faded into the distance, along with the voices.

"Now," murmured Celegorm.

Curufin let out a choking sob of need and spent himself against the wall as Celegorm’s hand worked at him. He had not registered the voices, neither what they had said nor whom they belonged to, but Celegorm was shaking slightly. Curufin moaned once more as Celegorm came inside him, and then the hallway fell into true silence.

Curufin broke it, gasping for breath and massaging his throat as Celegorm released him at last. He turned around, his robes still bunched over his waist, and Celegorm stayed slumped forward against him, his arms braced against the wall.

Curufin raised bloodshot eyes to Celegorm’s face. "It is not like you to give a damn about noise."

“It would be a waste of all your hard work to be rejected by our people for a filthy taboo,” Celegorm rasped, his voice as rough as if he had been the one strangled. His seed dripped down Curufin’s leg.

“True,” said Curufin, suddenly thoughtful and composed again, and tugged his robes down. “Get off me.”

Celegorm stepped back and tucked himself back into his breeches. His hands were still shaking, and when he raised his eyes to the eight-pointed star on Finrod’s door, he had to look away almost immediately.

“Let us be gone from this damned place,” he said, and whether he meant that particular hallway or the kingdom of Nargothrond itself, he could not say.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The inevitable undoing.

Celebrimbor woke slowly. He was stretched out face-down on Celegorm’s bed, his arms shoved beneath the pillows, his sprawling limbs taking up more than his fair share of the bed; Celegorm sometimes told him he slept like an army sacking a city. He yawned, a certain familiar stiffness between his shoulder blades from the repetitive motions of the forge, and rolled over. Celegorm was nowhere to be seen, but this was hardly unusual. Celegorm rose early most days, sometimes so early that he could go out and return all before Celebrimbor woke. And indeed, as Celebrimbor yawned again and half sat up, he saw Celegorm’s boots kicked off in the corner, caked with fresh mud. Clearly his uncle had already been out and back, which meant…

Celebrimbor looked around, finally registering the sound of splashing water from the anteroom. Celebrimbor ran a hand over his stiff shoulder again and contemplated joining Celegorm in washing up. Steaming water sounded appealing to his aching muscles, and Celegorm’s blood tended to run hot in the early morning after a ride, and Celebrimbor spent a couple moments entertaining himself with thoughts of what might transpire if he slipped naked into the washroom with his uncle. But then again, he was feeling unusually lazy and comfortable, and rather than rising he dropped back onto the bed again, stretching out with a sigh. The prospect of getting up and washing only to head back to the forge for the day did not appeal to him like it used to. Not only was his current project in a creative rut, but it would mean spending time around his father, whose mood had been even more unpredictable and unpleasant than usual, and Celebrimbor had no desire to encounter it today.

He was just pulling the pillows over his head once more when, as if on cue, a knock came at the door. Servants, he thought sleepily, rolling himself tighter into the blankets, but then a voice followed the knocking, and he froze.

“Tyelko? Open up.”

Celebrimbor sat bolt upright, the sheets sliding from his naked chest, his heart suddenly thundering in his chest at the sound of his father’s voice.

“Tyelko, I know you are in there, I saw your horse in the stables and the girl there said you’d gone back to your quarters. Let me in.”

Celebrimbor shot a look at the washroom door, but Celegorm had apparently heard nothing. Heart pounding, Celebrimbor leaned over the edge of the bed and started to search desperately through the clothes on the floor for his trousers.

“Ignoring me will only work so long,” said Curufin, sounding bored. “I made this lock, I can open it easily.”

Celebrimbor mouthed a silent, heartfelt curse, and half slid, half fell from the bed. He jerked a pair of breeches on at random, not knowing for sure if they were his, and hopped on one foot across the room, still pulling them over his thighs. There was a large wardrobe in the corner, its door ajar, and, with a brief prayer Celebrimbor slipped inside. The wardrobe was an old one and the latch was weak, so Celebrimbor had to hold the handles to keep the door from drifting open. Even so, there was still a long crack through which he could see a sliver of room.

He had only just slowed his breathing when the bedroom door opened and Curufin stepped in, pocketing something as he did.

“I told you,” said Curufin, twitching his fingers expertly. “The work of a moment – Tyelko?” He frowned, looking around the disordered room, the unmade bed and the pile of clothes on the floor. Celebrimbor’s panic increased as he considered his father recognizing his tunic amidst the tangled garments or spotting the second pair of boots half concealed under the bed.

But at that moment, the washroom door opened and Celegorm stepped out, whistling and naked but for a cloth wrapped around his hips. He had the relaxed posture in his shoulders that Celebrimbor associated with him having been outdoors, and he glanced reflexively towards the bed, the beginnings of a grin curling his mouth. Then he saw Curufin standing by the bed with his arms folded, and froze.

Celebrimbor could tell Celegorm was trying to evaluate, as quickly as possible, the extent of the damage done.

“Took you long enough,” said Curufin. “Did you not hear me knocking?”

It seemed to take a moment for Celegorm to get his tongue working, but then he said, easily enough, “I’m sorry, brother, were you at the door?”

“Yes.” Curufin raised his eyebrows impatiently.

“My apologies, I did not hear you.”

“And to think you are considered a great hunter with the ears of a fox and the senses of any number of other hairy, scurrying things.” Curufin’s tone was teasing but not actually annoyed, and Celebrimbor was surprised to see him shake his head almost fondly.

“Ah well, you know me.” Celegorm was still speaking normally, but from the movement of his head, Celebrimbor could tell he was scanning the room. “Single-minded focus on the task at hand, that’s me.”

“Yes, I have noticed that,” said Curufin softly, and he crossed the room. Celebrimbor wanted to shrink back further into the wardrobe, but he had to keep holding the doors shut, so he just squeezed his eyes shut as his father passed within an arm’s reach of his hiding place. When Celebrimbor opened his eyes, he saw that Curufin was standing very close to Celegorm.

Surprisingly close. 

Celebrimbor frowned. His father notoriously hated proximity, with perhaps one recent exception. For him to stand this close – intimately so – to his half dressed brother seemed out of character. Celegorm seemed uneasy as well, looking down at Curufin with one hand still clasping the towel around his hips.

“Allow me,” said Curufin quietly, “to shift that single-minded focus of yours, hm?”

Celebrimbor tried into suppress his sharp inhale of surprise as Curufin laid a hand on Celegorm’s bare chest, still wet from the washing. It was an odd gesture, one that rang strangely between the two brothers, and Celebrimbor realized it was because he had only ever seen Curufin touch two other people like that.

Celebrimbor’s mother, and Finrod.

As his mind struggled to process this, Curufin reached up, tucking a damp lock of hair behind Celegorm’s ear, his fingers lingering on Celegorm’s cheek. “Can you be persuaded towards another topic that requires your attention?” he said, low and intimate, and Celegorm shivered visibly.

 _No,_ Celebrimbor thought, his fingers starting to hurt where he clutched at the door handles. _No, he can’t –_

“Curvo,” rumbled Celegorm, and Celebrimbor shook his head desperately in the darkness. He knew that tone.

“Beast,” said Curufin, low and teasing again. Celegorm’s free hand was on Curufin’s hip, and Celebrimbor hadn’t seen him move it there. “Hmm, you are wearing rather a lot…”

“Quite the accusation,” said Celegorm, “given that you come to me buttoned to the chin and robed to the toe.”

“Let’s deal with you first,” murmured Curufin, and laid his hand over Celegorm’s where he was still gripping the towel. He began to work it free. Celegorm seemed to remember something at this moment and glanced up, casting a last searching glance around the room while in the wardrobe, Celebrimbor began to tremble.

Something felt very, very wrong, and he did not want to see confirmation of his fears.

But then Curufin pulled the towel free of Celegorm’s hips, laying him bare, and at the same time tipped Celegorm’s face down to his.

Celebrimbor squeezed his eyes shut until the lights popped behind them, his breath frozen in his lungs, a vile, acrid taste on his tongue, and something huge and sickening settling in his stomach.

“Curvo,” he heard Celegorm murmur, and his father’s answering, “Get on the bed, let me see you.”

This time Celebrimbor did slump against the back of the wardrobe, his nerveless fingers releasing the door handles. Some small, kind god must have granted him one blessing, for the doors miraculously stayed in place. Through the crack he could see Celegorm carefully kick Celebrimbor’s boots further under the bed as he pushed Curufin down onto it, and then Celebrimbor saw no more. He buried his head in his knees, his arms wrapped over his head, but it was not enough to cover the noises that followed.

-

It wasn’t until after Curufin had left and Celegorm had followed him out that Huan padded over to the wardrobe and nosed it open. Celebrimbor stayed huddled in the back, his face hidden even after the hound had given a low, comforting _whuff_ at him.

It was only the realization that Celegorm would not be long away, especially when he realized that Celebrimbor was nowhere to be found outside of the room, that sent Celebrimbor to his feet and staggering on numb legs across the room. He didn’t bother to retrieve the rest of his clothes, wanting nothing more than to leave everything that Celegorm had touched behind him forever.

 

* * *

 

Celebrimbor didn’t come to dinner.

Celegorm, who had gotten increasingly unsettled through the day and each hour he did not see his nephew, excused himself early and went looking for him. He checked the forges first, but the fires were cold and had clearly not been lit that day. Foreboding rising, he padded on silent feet down the hallways to his nephew’s suite of rooms – and there he found him.

“We missed you at dinner,” he said from the doorway, and as soon as he saw Celebrimbor’s shoulders go rigid at the sound of his voice, he knew.

Celebrimbor turned slowly from his workbench, and Celegorm winced at his expression. Celebrimbor was looking at him like he’d never seen anything more despicable or repulsive in his life; as if he had just looked down and seen the thing he had been cradling to his breast was crawling with maggots.

“Tyelpe,” Celegorm murmured, despite the look on his face. “I wanted to see you.”

Celebrimbor stood up, and as Celegorm took in the lines of his powerful body with a new eye, he realized that Celebrimbor cut an imposing figure. He recalled, suddenly, that his nephew was no mean warrior.

Celebrimbor’s voice was low and shook only slightly as he raised his eyes to Celegorm’s face. “Get out.”

For a moment, Celegorm toyed with the idea of playing dumb. "Get out? Why, I only just got here. And I never got to see you earlier." Then he made a face, knowing it wasn't working, his teasing tone far too forced. "Tyel- Celebrimbor - "

"I told you to get out," said Celebrimbor quietly. "Do it, please."

"Not yet." Celegorm dropped the pretense. He knew Celebrimbor had seen something, heard something, he must have. He had to know what it was. “Where were you this morning?”

“In your wardrobe,” growled Celebrimbor, and Celegorm flinched. “Thinking, like a fool, that there would be nothing worse than my father finding me in your bed.”

Celegorm took a breath. “That may still be true.”

“Shut up!” spat Celebrimbor, and in that moment Celegorm had never seen him look so angry. He looked, Celegorm thought, like a man who had spent the previous hours honing grief and horror into a perfect fury. “Are you even going to attempt to explain or apologize, or are you just going to stand there and mock me?”

“I am sorry for what you saw.”

“But not sorry that you did it?”

“Tyelpe – ”

“Don’t call me that!” Celebrimbor was shouting now, his fists clenched at his side. “You perverse son of a bitch, I have told you time and again not to call me that, but you never care, you don't give a _damn_  what I want and you never have. I cannot believe I trusted you. I cannot believe I loved you.” He was breathing quick and hard, and his eyes held pure venom. He seemed to be steeling himself for a question he didn't want to ask but couldn't keep himself from voicing. “Has this, this _affair_ been happening since Finrod’s death, or did it start long ago?”

Celegorm could not think how to answer this, but Celebrimbor’s eyes, sharp and shrewd as his father’s read it in the way he looked away. _Long ago?_ Celegorm tried not to think about the first time he had looked at his brother and seen more than he had expected, tried not to remember for how long things had been shifted between them.

_Since Himlad fell._

_Maybe longer._

Celebrimbor was shaking, whether with repulsion or anger Celegorm could not tell. “Was I just a replacement for him, then, all those nights he was away from you with the king? Was I as much a part of your plan as his dalliance with Finrod was?”

Celegorm grinned humorlessly at the thought of anything he had done with Celebrimbor being _planned_ , but dropped the smile as he saw Celebrimbor’s look. “No, there was no plan, I make no plans. You were – ”

“Just a distraction.” Celebrimbor laughed, and it rang horribly, cold and forced and entirely unlike him. “Valar, I must have been such a disappointment to you! I have never looked enough like my father for his liking, and I am sure not for yours either.”

“He had nothing to do with why I took you to my bed,” said Celegorm, half able to believe it. “And be fair, lad, you were using me as replacement as much as – ”

“Do not even try to justify it as the same thing,” snarled Celebrimbor. “I did all I could to put him from my mind. I was glad to have found comfort with you, glad to find affection with another, glad to find a reason to move on.”

“Sounds like replacement to me.”

“No,” said Celebrimbor icily. “You didn’t look enough like him for that, remember?”

Celegorm didn’t say anything to that, holding back the instinct to compliment the boy on a hit well landed.

“And at least I knew my desire for another was futile! I did not seek you out because the object of my affection had left my bed - I never had him, after all - but you cannot tell me that is not exactly what happened for you. Did my father tire of you? Could you not keep him – keep him satisfied – ” Celebrimbor’s voice stuttered and his skin took on a pallor; it was clearly difficult for him to finish the accusation. Celegorm half wanted to reach out for him, soothe him, tell him that he was not suited to such vitriol – _you have always been better-hearted than us, too good for our ways, do not try to spit our poison –_ but Celebrimbor plowed on doggedly. “Perhaps that is what made me such a good replacement. The true object of your desire might have found his way to Finrod’s bed and away from you, but that was never a concern with me.” The self-loathing in his voice dragged harshly against Celegorm’s ears.

“I was not using you as a stand-in for Curvo.”

“Don’t – don’t say his – Don’t speak about him to me, I do not want to hear his name on your tongue.” Celebrimbor was shaking again. “I should never have trusted you. I knew that you and he were poison for this kingdom, even though I pretended not to, even though I deluded myself into thinking I was mistaken, like my father always said. But he is  _wrong_ , my instincts are good. I always knew. I just had no idea how truly poisonous and poisoned you both are.” He took a great, shuddering breath. “You must have been more delighted than I even suspected,” he whispered, “when Finrod died. You got him back, then. Did you switch nights between him and me?”

 _Why do you ask questions you don’t want the answer to, boy?_ Celegorm winced and didn’t answer, making an unconscious move to cross to Celebrimbor. It was driven by the same instinct that rose in him when he came across an animal not quite killed by a snare; an instinct to lay hands on a frantic creature, to soothe with touch and quiet voice a desperate beast made mad with pain.

But Celebrimbor recoiled as if from hands that he suspected would caress only to snap his neck. “Do not you dare touch me,” he spat. “Do not come near me, do not – do not even _look_ at me again. I will only be able to see – ” He shuddered all over as though he was going to be sick. Celegorm thought of that morning, of Curufin pinning him to the bed and taking him on his tongue, and of what Celebrimbor must have seen. “You broke your own rule. What was it you told me?” Celegorm could tell that Celebrimbor was still trying to speak with scathing anger, but all that echoed in his voice was pain. “ ‘It is simply poor manners to let your lover know.’ ”

“Well, I never intended to.” 

There was a ringing silence as Celebrimbor’s fists tightened at his sides, his knuckles white, and Celegorm wondered how much it would hurt to take his nephew’s punch. He knew he could best his nephew in a fight, despite the strength and weight advantage Celebrimbor had on him, but he had no intention of fighting back. Perhaps it would be well for Celebrimbor to reclaim some of his pain by shedding Celegorm’s blood.

But Celebrimbor did not swing at him.

The silence continued, and Celegorm’s tongue wandered out into it before he could stop it. “Are you going to tell your father?”

The anguish on Celebrimbor’s face was replaced with disgust, and somehow the shift bothered Celegorm more than anything else had. “That is what you choose to ask me? What do you fear I will tell him, that I know he takes his brother’s cock, or that I do too?”

“Either,” said Celegorm, and knew he was exactly the coward Celebrimbor thought him.

“No,” said Celebrimbor bitterly, after a long silence in which he let Celegorm hang. “I do not wish to speak to him, I do not think I could. Do not worry,” he said, turning away, and Celegorm reached a hand to him again, still half wishing Celebrimbor would strike at him or break his fingers, or do anything but look so defeated, “he will not find it anything new that I cannot look him in the eye.”

He strode past Celegorm’s outstretched hand and left, his departure punctuated by the heavy door slamming behind him. Celegorm did not pursue him, knowing as he did when a quarry was not worth the hunt. Knowing when a creature had been so far run down that it would be a cruelty to pursue further. He waited to leave, allowing Celebrimbor time to build distance between them. As he waited he dropped back against Celebrimbor’s bedpost and found, curiously, that there remained a part of him that could still feel shame.

“I regret it,” he tried, feeling the words over his tongue, and marveled that something heavy and painful was twisting beneath his sternum. He pressed his hand to it, to see if it would push back. “I am sorry,” he murmured, fascinated at himself, and wondered if he meant it.

 

* * *

 

When Celebrimbor stood tall before the court, and swore his allegiance to Orodreth, disavowing his father and uncle, Curufin’s eyes blazed with rage and contempt, though he spoke not a word as he stared at his son like he was a stranger. Celegorm did not look at Celebrimbor at all.

While at first Orodreth was resistant to accept Celebrimbor’s pledge of loyalty, Finduilas soon convinced him that it was well worth accepting. Orodreth eyed the broad-shouldered Elf standing so stiffly before him, the recent patch on his cloak obscuring what had once been a Fëanorion star, and chanced a look at the two Elves who stood just by the doors. Curufin was rigid with fury at his son’s defection, but Celegorm seemed more awkward and ill at ease than betrayed. It did not take an intellect like Finrod’s to divine that something more than a parting of minds had transpired, though Orodreth had never been stupid.

Orodreth was rather surprised to see how well this had all worked out for him. It was the first bit of luck he’d had in a long while, and he had a glimmer of premonition that it might well be the last piece of fortune he would have for a long time to come.

He banished the brothers. Celebrimbor stayed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. I was absolutely 100% helpless against the cliche of having someone hide to prevent something unfortunate from being witnessed, only to witness something even more unfortunate. #wardobeironies


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The cruel sons of Feanor are always cruelest to each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. Warnings for violence in this chapter.  
> 1\. This last installment was actually supposed to be a fairly short epilogue, but I got carried away - the story of this fic, honestly. It's been a hell of a ride guys, thanks for sticking it out! I'm glad there are enough masochists to jump on board this ship and all its family funtimes.  
> 2\. I meant to mention this earlier, but the title is a tweaked Natalia Kills lyric from [this song.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ayVuQLT00v0) It's a pretty solid Nargothrond track, if you're looking for one.

_Then Beren did Curufin release; but took his horse and coat of mail,_ _and took his knife there gleaming pale, hanging sheathless, wrought of steel._ _But other hands its haft now held; its master lay by mortal felled._

 _Beren uplifting him, far him flung, and cried 'Begone!', with stinging tongue;_ _'Begone! thou renegade and fool, and let thy lust in exile cool!_ _Arise and go, and no more work like Morgoth's slaves or cursed Orc;_ _and deal, proud son of Feanor, in deeds more proud than heretofore!'_

 _Then Beren led Luthien away, while Huan still there stood at bay._ _'Farewell,' cried Celegorm the fair. 'Far get you gone!_ _And better were to die for_ _hungered in the waste than wrath of Feanor's sons to taste, that yet may reach o'er dale and hill.’_

 

* * *

  

They fled, as if their defeat and humiliation could be left as far behind as the belongings that had been taken from them.

They fled, until they could no longer hear the woman’s voice or Huan’s baying bark.  

They rode on until the horse could carry them no longer, and then Celegorm dismounted and Curufin dropped down beside him, staggering a little on numb legs.

“Come here,” said Celegorm roughly, and took his brother’s face between his hands. Curufin grabbed for his wrist, once, to steady himself, but otherwise kept his hands at his sides, refusing to cling.

Celegorm examined the bruises on Curufin’s throat, tipping his head back to see the extent of the marks that mottled Curufin’s pale skin, red in some places, ugly blue in others. Blood vessels were broken under the skin and behind his eyes, but Curufin swallowed, feeling the uncrushed slide of his hyoid bone beneath Celegorm’s fingers, and knew that the worst that had been done him was humiliation.

Bad enough.

Celegorm seemed to agree that Curufin would live, for he grunted and released him. Curufin half swayed towards him with a question or demand as he raised his open palms towards his brother, but Celegorm had already turned away, the heavy rope of his braided hair slapping against the leather of his armor with flat finality. The clench of his jaw and the direction of his feet said that he meant to vanish back into the forest, back the way they had come.

“Where are you going?” demanded Curufin, his voice still rough from his treatment at Beren’s hands.

Celegorm did not look back at him. “I need space.” There was rage simmering just under the surface of his clipped tone, but Curufin pushed anyway, adrenaline and humiliation making him daring.

“You do not get the luxury of space,” he snapped. “It is just the two of us in unknown territory, you do not get to leave.”

“You order me?” Celegorm turned his head slightly and Curufin caught a glimpse of the fire in his eyes.

It was another warning that he ignored. “Yes.” Curufin folded his arms, wishing he had something to wind around his throat, his shame drawn too starkly against his bare skin. “I order you not to go bumbling into the forest looking for that filthy hound. No, do not try to deny it, I know what’s in your mind. _Give up._ You know he will never return to you, he has a new bitch now.”

Celegorm’s movement was so sudden that Curufin’s heart rate, still stuttering from their flight, accelerated again. But he refused to flinch. Celegorm slammed a clenched fist into the trunk of a tree, and their horse, already flecked with sweat and trembling with fatigue, shied away from the noise. “By the fucking Valar, do you never stop even for a second? Let me be!” He pointed towards the woods, his gloved hand shaking slightly in fury. “I am going,” he said, in a voice of determined calm. “For a little while or long, it is none of your business. Do not follow me if you know what is good for you.”

But when he moved, Curufin was at his heels at once, knowing it would provoke him beyond his wavering control, knowing that to break Celegorm now would be the only way to keep him from breaking later.

And perhaps he craved the danger.

Celegorm swore, a filthy curse that soured the air around them, and whirled on his brother. “Have you not done enough damage with your bloody schemes and failed attempts?”

“No,” said Curufin, his lip curling. “Never enough.”

Celegorm swore again. “Do you not hear me? I am tired of listening to you, tired of obeying you. Have you learned nothing in all of this?” He spread his arms. “We have lost everything! All our clever plans in Nargothrond were for naught, all we attempted with the girl is lost in ruin, and what idiots we to have even considered it.”

“You did not think it so idiotic to consider before.”

“Ah, but I am one hundred times a fool,” said Celegorm bitterly. “And have long been so for always turning my ear to you. _Enough_.”

“So you drop responsibility at my feet like it is the carrion you are so fond of,” said Curufin, relishing the resentment that was blossoming in his chest. “How very useful that excuse must be. I wish I could use it.”

“Use? You talk to me of use?" Celegorm spat on the ground. “You have used me for years like just another one of your pawns, with no more care than you give the sword at your hip."

“There are few pawns who I can trust as I trust you.”

“How flattering to be highly ranked against your other minions,” said Celegorm coldly, though Curufin had meant it, truly, as a compliment. “And yet still you used me without a mind as to what might come of it, as you dallied and played your games and ignored me until it suited you.”

In that moment, the long years in Nargothrond stretched between them. Night after night, the rush of the river around the stones and Celegorm waiting in their dark rooms, a glow in his eyes. Curufin, moving through those long halls with knowledge that gave him purpose and power, his fingers curled around a carved jade piece, fingers curled into long, golden hair.

Curufin snapped free the thread of memory as pain roared up in his chest. “Ah,” he sneered. “So this is about your wounded feelings.”

“It may come as a shock to you,” said Celegorm, who looked as though he were still watching Curufin from the end of a long hallway, “but I do not actually relish being constantly at your beck and call while knowing that I am no better than your second choice. How do you suppose it feels to know that the orbit of my universe hinges on your nod, while I mean less to you than the sighs of a flickering ghost?”

“Stop being a child,” said Curufin, the blood rushing in his ears like waves on the shore – or sighs in the long night. “Do you need to constantly stop and beg reassurance of love? My son as a babe at the breast was not so needy of affection as you are now. There are greater things at play here than your scraped ego, things that you have never been able to see, and _this_ is why you need me. When matters deteriorate and I suffer for them, do you see me complaining? No, I take my losses like a man and – ”

“Your losses?” Celegorm gave a bark of laughter than was more like a snarl. “What of my losses? Do you ever stop to think of what I have lost? Of what I sacrifice to be put to use by you?”

Curufin straightened up, wrapped his cloak about himself and his voice back into the cadence of control. “Rein in your temper,” he said. “You are making a fool of yourself.”

“And you made a fool of me for years,” Celegorm spat. “Because you presumed that no matter what you did, I would never leave. Arrogant as you were, you always thought I would wait for you. You never questioned that I would meekly take whatever you offered when you deigned to return, that I would still fall to heel at your every command, even after you came to me from his bed, ripe with his stink – ”

_The halls, the distant rush of the river –_

_Long nights, golden hair, jadestone in his hand –_

_Celegorm’s eyes, glittering in the darkness, waiting._

Curufin tightened his fingers. “So we are here again,” he said contemptuously. “Jealousy is a pathetic look for one of your birth, and I urge you to reorder yourself.” He knew he should draw back now, but could not resist a final point. “And I hardly left you lonely, dog. I know you took whores and kept yourself plenty busy while I worked on long plans that succeeded despite your ineptitude.” It was a petty, mean jab, designed to infuriate, but it did not elicit the reaction he had expected. 

For at this, Celegorm laughed, long and loud, and Curufin withdrew from him, taken aback. “You are right,” said Celegorm, and he was so suddenly merry that Curufin was uneasy. “I took my whores. I kept myself busy, even while you were occupying yourself first with the highly taxing job of drinking Felagund’s seed and then with your vigil over his abandoned bed.” His voice was almost a purr now, mocking and terrifying, and Curufin clenched his teeth. “But no, you are correct, I had my fun. And sometimes when you came to me, brother, sometimes when you offered up your arse still raw from Felagund's use, I took you on bedding still warm from another’s body, still stained with another’s seed…”

“Do you merely wish to repulse me?” Curufin lifted his chin disdainfully against the choking tightness in his throat. “Distasteful, but what care I?”

“You might care if you knew who it was I took to my bed,” said Celegorm, and there was a savored cruelty in his voice. “Do you want to know whom I had made scream, and come, and spill himself on my sheets sometimes mere hours before I took you there?”

“No,” said Curufin, his eyes narrowing.

But Celegorm ignored him. “Not even if it was someone you knew?”

“No, I do not give – ”

“Not even if it was your son?”

Curufin froze as if the sky had shattered above him, but the sun shone on lazily, and a gentle wind lifted the grass at their feet.

Celegorm laughed a rolling, dangerous laugh. “You have done so much,” he said, with the gentle precision of guiding a knife between the ribs. “You have orchestrated so much, pulled us all around like pawns, let us bleed for your _mistakes_ … Now you are going to be silent and know that you are not the only one who can lie.” He looked down at Curufin, a cruel smile on his handsome face, his eyes bright and gleaming. “I did not wait quietly for you to come back to me. I did not sit submissively as I waited for the blond bitch to finally die. I took your son as my lover. For months he warmed my bed while you sucked Felagund’s cock, and I– ”

Curufin’s sword was drawn in a harsh whisper of steel, and Celegorm was ready for him, as ready as if he had been expecting this from the very beginning. His own heavy spear was in his hand so swiftly it might always have been there, leaping out against Curufin’s. Spear met sword in a mighty clash and when their eyes met, it was with every inch as much ferocity and loathing as they had ever gone into battle.

Perhaps more.

“How dare you spew such lies?”

“No lie,” said Celegorm, laughing as he pressed forward, so that Curufin took the brunt of his weight on his sword arm. “No more lies between us, my pet.”

“You are just trying to hurt me,” rasped Curufin, though he was a skilled enough liar to know truth when it was thrown at him. “You did not – you could not have – ”

“Oh, I am trying to hurt you,” said Celegorm with every indication of cheer, though his eyes were merciless. “But that does not mean I _lie._ Do you wish to know how your son sounds as he screams his climax beneath me?”

Curufin moved furiously, wrenching free of the spear locked against his hilt and soon Celegorm’s harsh laugh was lost as he was forced to block Curufin’s onslaught.

"Do you want me to tell of how desperate he was?" Celegorm shot at him, even as he parried a killing thrust. "How  _eager_ he was to get on all fours for me, brother... How he choked on my cock to begin but soon grew thirsty for what I could give him..."

" _Stop!"_

"Do you want to know the ways in which you fuck the same? Do you want to know what he was better at than you? He bested you not only in the forge, Curufinwë!"

"Do not _speak_ of him in such - How _dare_ you - " Curufin slashed his sword in a vicious line that would have cut Celegorm's throat, but Celegorm blocked him, taking the blow across his gloved knuckles, which split. 

Curufin’s rage and betrayal drove him on with a raw ferocity that he had not known since the first time he had taken up his sword after Fëanor’s death. Battle was usually a calculated necessity for him, fighting something that came to him with refined practice and repetition. It had never been borne of rage as it was for Caranthir, or an expression of violent joy as it was for Celegorm, nor burning vengeance, as it was for their stone-eyed eldest brother.

Curufin plied war with a cold detachment that in no way lessened his skill, but until now he had not known – or had not remembered – what it was like to feel blood rise behind his eyes and to know the thirst for a kill.

_My son, my son, what have you done to him?_

Celegorm’s weapon was heavier and had a longer reach, but he had miscalculated in choosing it rather than a sword. It did not take long for Curufin – and how well did he know how his brother moved and thought and fought, after all – to take advantage of how the spear slowed Celegorm’s movements. In the moment when Celegorm took a step back, stumbling a little on a tree root, Curufin wrenched the weapon from his brother’s hands, his blade drawing gouges into the carved shaft of the spear. Then Curufin was on him even as Celegorm fumbled his knife from its sheath in a last attempt to block his attack.

It would do him no good.

Curufin smashed the knife from Celegorm’s hands and then dealt him a blow to the face with the hilt of his sword. Celegorm fell heavily, his body landing hard on the twisted roots, the fall worsened by the vicious kick Curufin landed against his chest.  Before he could recover, Curufin was on top of him, his knees pinning Celegorm’s arms to the ground, his blade at Celegorm’s throat.

Celegorm stared up at him with bloody eyes, his nose broken. “As good a way to end as any,” he said, his voice thick with the blood that must be filling his throat. The tendons of his neck moved under Curufin’s sword as he shifted then stilled.

He usually laughed when he was on the ground, even beneath another's foot, but he was not laughing now. 

“Filth,” croaked Curufin, blinking the shadows away from the corners of his vision. “Traitor, predator – I always knew you were a mindless animal, but I did not expect even you to stoop so low. You have crossed every line that matters, you have ruined – ” Words failed him. _You have ruined us_ . “You are utterly without shame, without morality, without good, you are _abominable_.”

Celegorm closed his eyes, blood streaking like tears down his cheeks. “You tell me nothing I do not know. Give me the respect of getting on with it, won’t you?”

“This was all your fault,” said Curufin, his voice breaking as blood welled up beneath the edge he laid to Celegorm’s throat. He remembered Celebrimbor’s eyes, the way he had stared at his father, and then through him. He remembered his son’s weary voice, his words of repudiation. “He might still be with us, were it not for you. You hurt him, didn’t you?” He could see in Celegorm’s eyes that it was so, and blinding grief rose from somewhere he had thought long dead.

But Celegorm laughed, a wet, bruised sound. “Surely you are not so deluded as to think I am the only reason we lost him. He was always going to leave you, Curufin. He was always going to hate you. How many times did I tell you he was too good for the likes of us? The only thing this changed was – ”

“Was how much you had to damage him, first.” Curufin’s fingers tightened on his sword, and he could see, clear as foresight, what it would be like to press it through his brother’s flesh until it hit bone.

“Do you actually care about his pain, or do you just object to sharing?” Celegorm spat blood out of the corner of his mouth. “You broke his heart for centuries, Curvo, centuries before I took him to my bed and gave him some of the affection he was so hungry for. How many centuries did you hurt him before he watched us from that wardrobe and saw what we truly are?”

“He actually watched – He saw – ” Curufin’s voice cracked and broke off, horror stifling him. His blade dug into Celegorm’s throat again and he could hear how Celegorm’s breath whistled between his teeth. “ _How could you let this happen?”_

“Just kill me already,” whispered Celegorm. “Get it over with, brother, and it will be easier for us both. You can tell Nelyo the wench did it, I know she wished it enough that it might as well be so. But if you ever loved me, make it quick.”

For a moment, Curufin’s fingers twitched on the hilt of his sword. His knees dug bruises into Celegorm’s arms, and his weight on Celegorm’s chest made Celegorm’s breathing shallow and labored, flecks of blood dotting his lips. Celegorm raised his eyes, away from Curufin’s face, to the scrap of sky visible above the treetops. Curufin could see his lips moving in an ancient, silent prayer, as he fixed his eyes on the trees and sky and readied himself for death.

An end.

Curufin slumped back, and his sword dropped to the ground.

For a moment Celegorm lay as still as though Curufin had gone through with the killing blow. Then he shakily pushed himself to his elbows, his hand seeking his throat, scored but not slashed by the edge of Curufin’s blade.

“No,” said Curufin dully. “I cannot kill you.”

Celegorm looked at him, blood still trickling out between his fingers. There was a strange look on his face, one that might almost have been disappointment.

“You said we have lost everything,” said Curufin, watching his brother’s blood flow. “You were almost right. I cannot lose the only thing I have left.”

Birds sang into the silence, so blithe and joyful it might have been mockery. Curufin watched but Celegorm did not turn towards their voices as he once would have; the language of bird and beast that had once come as easily to him as breathing proving more elusive with each passing day. He had mentioned it offhand to Curufin when they had first departed Nargothond, as if it meant nothing.

_I cannot hear them as I used to._

_They do not listen to me._

_What of my loss? Celegorm had roared. What of my sacrifice?_

“I cannot lose you,” repeated Curufin, and there was as much acceptance as bitterness in his words. “I am bound to you. Stuck with you. Cursed with you.” He dropped his head into his hands then, and heard rather than saw Celegorm kick the sword away and pull himself over the ground to lean against a tree, clutching at what had to be several cracked ribs.

Celegorm pressed his fingers to his ribcage, closing his eyes against the pain. “If I am your curse, then you are mine.”

“Yes,” said Curufin, not lifting his head. “Yes, that is so.”

Celegorm let out a sigh, his breath still guttural, and his dirt and bloodstained fingers dropped limply to the leaf-strewn ground. Celegorm murmured something, but Curufin, his head hidden in his arms, did not attempt to make out the words.

They might have been, _“I regret it.”_

There was a long silence, as the birds called their evening songs and Arien wheeled toward the dark. Curufin stayed where he sat, head bowed, hands hanging loose.

Celegorm never stopped watching him but did not try and drag himself closer. “He is better off without us, you know this.”

Curufin did not open his eyes, but he felt the last thread that had tied him to his son fray and break. “Yes.”

“It is will just be you and me,” whispered Celegorm. “Until world’s end.”

“Yes.”

“Your son,” said Celegorm, raising his bloodied, broken, once beautiful face to scan the sky one last time, “has far better fucking luck.”

 


End file.
